The Ones in Horror
by LiKaTaSa
Summary: Harley Quinn? The Joker's henchwench? She was going to let one of her Puddin's hostages go? Right... (My first attempt at a solo Batman fic, please review!)


Harely Quinn wandered through the lobby of the bank, her gun twirling around her finger as she waited for Mistah J to get back from the vault. He'd told her that this heist's reward was specifically important, and he didn't want her clumsy hands ruining it before he got his hands on it. She'd pouted, but agreed to stay and watch the hostages since they didn't need any special handling. If they misbehaved, they got shot, and if they behaved, they'd die anyways. It didn't matter in what manner unless the boss was putting on a show.

Harley sighed exaggeratedly. She blinked exaggeratedly. She let her shoulders slump exaggeratedly. Every single thing about her was exaggerated, and for no other reason than the fact that it was the Joker's gift to her. He let her realize that you were always performing, so you always had to entertain. Of course, to her, it was more of a release from having to seem so proper and socially acceptable. _This_ was acceptable. She was being entirely honest with herself. She loved a madman, so she was a madwoman. When she was sad, she was sad, she looked sad. When she was mad, she was mad, and she definitely looked it. The silent game was rarely her go to card anymore, and she preferred to just come out and say when she was jealous or feeling neglected. After all, everything she'd ever learned in college as Dr. Harleen Quinzel told her that the healthiest way to live was to be entirely honest with yourself and others. The Joker had the right idea!

She turned to a random hostage. "How do you feel?"

The woman choked and stuttered, obviously startled and petrified by Harley's question. Harley scowled and the woman squeaked, then forced out a smile, trying to placate the villain with pleasantness. "I-I feel f-fine, thank you!"

Harley snarled and raised her gun to the woman's head. "You're _lying!"_

The woman screamed and ducked, so when Harley's shot rang out, the jester missed her victim by a hair. Harley smiled and kneeled down in front of the woman. She brought her free hand under the woman's chin and brought up the trembling woman's head so she could look her in the eye. Harley sighed. "I'm sorry, miss. Today's been a long day, y'know?"

The woman nodded hurriedly, and Harley laughed. "So, tell me again, how do you feel? It's okay, I'm a certified nutcase, but I'm also a doctor."

The woman swallowed nervously. "I-I... I'm scared."

Harley nodded. "Right, I can tell. Why are you scared?"

"A-aren't you going t-to kill us?"

Harley grinned and waved her gun in a 'duh' manner. "Well, yeah! But death's already a given, so why are you scared?"

"I don't want to die!"

Harley gave the woman an overly sympathetic look. "Ah, I see. A fear of the unknown. Well there ain't much I can tell except that you'll probably just be dead. That's it."

The woman let out a pitiful sob. Harley stood and smiled at her excitedly. "Hey! Let's play a game!"

"A-a game?"

Harley giggled. "Yeah, a guessing game! If you can tell me how many fingers I'm holding up, I'll let you go!"

The woman's eyes widened with hope. "R-really?"

"Yeah. I'll even make it easy for ya!" Harley smiled mischievously and balanced her gun on top of her head. She placed both of her hands out, all fingers spread. The others looked on, some with barely concealed horror and others with the hope that if one of them could receive sympathy from the woman, the rest of them could too. The ones in horror were the smart ones. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

The woman looked at the clown's hand, wondering what kind of trick was up her skin-tight sleeves. "I-I just say the number of fingers you're holding up?"

Harley nodded, her unnerving smile still in place. "How many?"

"Eight!" the woman announced proudly.

"And why do ya say eight?" Harley asked, resting her hands on her hips.

The hostage faltered. "W-well... the thumbs don't count, right?"

Harley hummed thoughtfully and pulled her gun from her head. "So eight's your final answer?"

The woman nodded, then shook her head. "N-no! I mean to say ten! Ten!"

A shot rang once more through the lobby, and this time Harley did not miss her target. Harly rolled her eyes and turned to the hostage next to the dead woman. "Can you _believe _her? She said it was her final answer, then tried to cheat and say she didn't mean it! What a chump, am I right?"

"HARLEY! HARLEY! IT'S TIME TO GO!" She grinned and squealed, dropping her gun and grabbing the gas bombs from the belt she'd brought on the heist.

"I'll be right on my _way_, Mistah J!" She threw the bombs on the ground with and excited yell and quickly ran to catch up with her Puddin'.

The ones in horror knew there was no escape.


End file.
